Morning Yoga

"Wow, I didn't know you knew yoga?" Mom asks, as I do a near-perfect transition between the first two warrior poses. As she says the words, I realize that I do not, in fact, know anything about yoga. But I do, I do. Memories of a yoga video of hers that I used to jerk off to surface in my mind, and I realize I've recalled all of the details the instructor shared in that video, completely without realizing it. I look at Mom beside me and find her facing away, already having transitioned into the second warrior pose like the woman on the TV.

"Uh, guess I picked it up somewhere," I answer, as I take another view of her form. The appreciation of her form, her curves, is still there and constantly berating my mind, but I realize I am starting to notice other things. Small adjustments to her yoga pose that I could help her with to increase its effectiveness, to make it perfect. Without thinking, I stand up from my pose and step over to her. "Mom, I think you could improve your pose if you slightly step your foot out. Can I help you?" I ask.

"Oh, a yogi now are we?" she asks. "Fine, go ahead. I'll try it." With her still facing away, I kneel down beside her.

"See how your foot is placed here? If you slide it three inches to the right, you'll improve the angle on your thigh and increase the tension against your hamstring. It'll result in the pose being more effective at stretching your muscles."

"Oh," she says, and shifts her foot to the right. "Wow, you're right. I can feel it already. Alright, Yogi Dom, what else can I improve on?"

I step back and look at her form again. The foot placement adjustment helped a lot, but I still see issues with the angle of her torso and the placement of her arms. I step closer again and place my hands under her triceps. I apply a small amount of pressure to cause her to lift them higher until they form a perfect horizontal line with her shoulders.

"Okay, that's perfect. Your arms were a little low, so I raised them to the right angle. You'll feel more of a burn in your shoulders, but it will have a better result in the long run."

She chuckles and stands up from the pose. "So you've known this much about yoga and never bothered to do it with me? Now I'm really hurt," she jokes, and teasingly slaps you on the arm.

At first, I process the interaction as a normal son would, but my nootropic mind pushes beyond that. I see the glint in her eyes, the slight cant to her head as she smiles at me. Calculates the pressure applied against me when she slapped me. And, I realize, she is flirting. Subconsciously maybe, but still, flirting. My mind continues to process that idea, but my immediate thoughts are brought back into the moment when Mom sits down onto her yoga mat and rolls over, launching into a Cobra pose.

"Alright, come back down here. We're not done yet," she says, tapping the floor beside her.

I settle into the pose beside her. A few minutes later, we shift into the bridge pose. Then the half-bend pose. I continue to help Mom with her form as we go. Eventually, we land on the final pose. The Happy Baby.

"Alright, yogi. I think I could use your infinite wisdom on this last pose. The happy baby has always been one of my favorite stretches, but I know I've never done it quite right." Mom rolls onto her back and pulls her knees to her chest. Her hands reach out to her insoles, gripping them firmly, and try to pull her knees down. Unfortunately, her breasts stop her knees from getting very far. I immediately see the problem, and my nootropic mind jumps to the solution.

Without thinking, I sit down in front of her and analyze the placement of her legs. "I see the problem," I murmur, and lean forward to guide her. My hands grasp the insides of her thighs and gently press them out, sliding downwards as Mom spreads her legs out further. She whimpers as the stretch deepens and her muscles pull taut. I help apply pressure, my hands pressing down on her thighs and sinking her knees down to her shoulders.

Again, I am suddenly taken by the sight of her. The sensuality of the woman in front of me. Her eyes, closed in a soft pleasure, despite her face being taut with the tension of her muscles pulling against each other. My gaze drifts lower, and I realize her breasts are pushed together by the placement of her knees. I focus on them, enjoy the sensation of having them in my vision, and drift lower. I see the faint sheen of sweat on her abs, visible between her thighs. Then, lastly, my gaze lands on the stretched patch of fabric between her legs. "Oh," I think, as I realize the position has pulled it so tightly that it has **** but to form indentions around the soft shapes of her labia. The faint bulge of her clitoris can barely be seen. "Oh," I think again. Despite myself, I feel an urge rising within me. A desire to protect her, to support her. To truly fill that gap my mind recognized earlier. My cock starts to get hard in my pants, and I look down at it in surprise. But I can't suppress the thoughts. My mind races, planning, thinking, and considering. Eager to press the situation. Before I can talk myself into doing something I would later regret, I break away my gaze and return to my mat without a word.

We finish our session in the corpse pose, covered in sweat.

"Wow," I say, "I didn't know yoga could be such a workout." My words are hollow, my mind far away from my voice, as it dissects the image now seared into my brain. My mom, on her back in front of me, her legs parted and pulled to her chest in pleasure. Fuck! Fuck, no, I'm not a pervert!

"Oh?" Mom says, looking at me. "I'd imagine you've done it plenty if you're able to give me feedback about the positioning of my foot." She smiles at me, that same look as before. "Thanks for doing yoga with me, Dom. Especially with the Happy Baby. Never thought such a simple change could improve my yoga so much."

"I'm glad we got to spend some time together," I say. "I'm going to head upstairs and study. I have a promise to keep, now." I need to get away from her, now, before I do something stupid. My mind contemplates how I could advance my relationship with her. What I could say or do, how I could act. A thousand chances burn past me in an instant, all of which would put me on a trajectory to being closer to her.

I start to turn away, maintaining some self-control, but Mom grabs my arm and turns me back to her. She wraps her arms under my shoulders in a hug, our sweaty skin sticking together not unlike two lovers. I feel her natural breasts press into me, eliciting an agitated response from my pants. Before she can feel it, I break away and give her an awkward smile.

Before she can notice, I sprint upstairs and close my door.